


Dirty

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, PWP, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22299712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Just a quickie in Jimmy’s bathroom.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 11
Kudos: 199





	Dirty

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

There’s a big red sign on the door that reads _No androids allowed_ , and Hank gets a small kick out of busting right through that, even though he originally picked this bar just for that sign. Now he drags his plastic poodle across the dingy floor by the hand, spins Connor around inside the battered washroom, and shoves Connor up against the dirty wall. Connor doesn’t complain about the wooden trim digging into his back or the damp wallpaper peeling down against his shoulders. For once in his synthetic life, he just shuts up and opens wide, taking Hank’s tongue into his mouth without any protest. Hank keeps the bathroom door wedged shut with one knee and uses the other to keep Connor pinned against the wall. Connor’s arms wrap around Hank’s shoulders, fingers running back through his hair. A shiver runs through Hank—a sensation he thought long gone. He didn’t think he could still feel like this. 

But he looks at Connor’s handsome body and he feels young again, overcome with mindless hormones, _ravenous_ for Connor’s flawless figure. He digs his teeth into Connor’s silk-soft pink lips and bites down hard enough to bruise. Connor even _moans_ like a real person. He’s an annoying prick and mostly plastic, but to Hank, he’s still _real_. Real enough. He _feels_ things. Spares lives. Looks at Hank like Hank’s his whole world, even though he _should_ be loyal to a company that sometimes seems completely contrary to Hank’s interests. It blows Hank’s mind how far the two of them have come.

He remembers hating Connor’s stupid face. He remembers calling Connor _goofy_ and mocking Connor’s lilting voice. Now he fucks Connor right under the _ban androids_ graffiti and gets off on how well Connor takes it. Connor groans for him, rocks into him, clenches tight around his cock. Hank doesn’t have to fist Connor back, because Connor doesn’t have anything to touch—just a neat little hole and a slick channel that couldn’t be designed for anything but this. Connor says he’s just a prototype. He claims he doesn’t know why they gave him that entrance. Hank doesn’t need to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’s just grateful there’s a second place he can stick his cock, although Connor’s pretty mouth would’ve been enough. Hell, Hank would be fine thrusting between Connor’s creamy thighs. Hank just wants to _fuck_ Connor as hard and long as he can. 

He’s too old to do it as roughly as he wants. The wall supports Connor’s weight, and Connor doesn’t weigh that much, but his legs are wrapped around Hank’s hips instead of on the floor. His fingers clutch at Hank’s hair and coat. He meets Hank’s mouth with greedy kisses of his own—his tongue feels so _lifelike_. It’s wet and warm and spongy-soft, and it dances around Hank with a skill no detective should have. Connor’s said he learned for Hank. He’s adaptive. He downloads things completely outside his protocol just to better himself for Hank’s liking, even though Hank would be just fine if Connor kissed like a stumbling virgin. In a way, Hank sort of likes that Connor’s not a Traci—that he’s not built for this. In another way, he loves that Connor tries. He loves that Connor feels so _damn good_. He loves getting drunk on human alcohol and fucking his precious robot. Someone bangs loudly against the bathroom door, but Hank ignores it and jerks out to twist the handle, keeping the door locked. He’s not finished yet. He whispers into Connor’s mouth, “Make me come, baby.”

Connor’s such a good boy. He rarely follows orders when Hank asks, but he does so when it’s this important. He clenches tight around Hank’s cock and chokes out, “Hank, I—” He cuts off, but the sentiment hangs there, full of _emotion_ , and Hank knows the rest. Connor ducks down and buries himself in Hank’s shoulder, letting out a choked sob. 

Hank thrusts in deep and comes, roaring into the side of Connor’s throat. He spills himself in Connor’s tight body and loves knowing that Connor won’t clean it out. At least, not any time soon. He’ll hold it in and frequently reference it, then let Hank watch him wash off in the shower. Then Hank will fill him up again and perpetuate the cycle. 

Hank slumps down against Connor’s body, and Connor murmurs, _“I love you.”_

A machine should never say that. But Hank knows Connor’s so much _more_ , and he nods, because the feeling’s mutual.


End file.
